


you're so taken (with him, with him)

by tisapear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV Second Person, Smitten Iwa-chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/pseuds/tisapear
Summary: I do adore,your heart-fibers whisper, lips on your flesh sinking warmth into the bones underneath, his hair soft against your throat and you can't help but touch, fills the empty space between your fingers like it's meant to be; feel his smile against your skin and you don't think you can bear this.His love, all-encompassing, devours you in its entirety.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	you're so taken (with him, with him)

The curve of his wrists, fingers bent; eyes intense, evoke the feeling of coal under your feet. Keeps you on your toes, makes you want to be a step ahead of others. But not him—never him. 

It's his tenacity, you think. Or the fervor, keeping him afloat, just out of reach (except Tooru always reaches out to you, doesn't he, one hand extended, curled fingers not a question but a demand. _By my side_ , they say, no room for refusal, no _or else_. Simply, _You have to. It's your life's one purpose_ ).

A perfect serve, his laugh so carfree as he shouts your name. 

Maybe you've always been just a little hopeless, when it comes to him. 

* * *

Disparate images, flawlessly interwoven. Prince of the school, just a guileless boy—ah, me? I'd _never_ —innocence personified, wouldn't harm a fly. 

(Will choke his enemies in their sleep, in their own house and with their own pillow, parents peacefully asleep next door while they suffocate in their own goddamn bed. _Should've seen it coming_ , his eyes will laugh, the last thing they'll ever be blessed to see, _should've seen it coming the moment you decided it's a good idea to challenge me._ )

 _Grand King_ , and it rings true like a heavenly bell. A monster wearing the skin of a pretty boy, a master and his many pieces. A glorified game of chess, except the only thing at stake is his own heart.

It's a good thing, then, that he's long since entrusted it to you, cupped inside your steady hands while his own are shaking, yet never waver in their tight hold on yours.

* * *

Crows pick your eyes out when flowers bloom and he only allows himself to fall apart in your arms once curious gazes no longer scorch your dreams. _This was only a battle,_ you tell him, and he believes you because it's what he's always done.

(A knight's eternal servitude to his beloved king; you vow your words won't be proven lies.)

* * *

_This worthless pride of mine,_ he says, his voice shaking with conviction as his gaze never falters. You can only watch from the sidelines, take in his profile. You want to follow the contours with stardust and etch them into reality itself.

But there's also a hot feeling in your chest, raw and unbridled, Ushijima's stare even worse in its sheer obliviousness. 

It dissipates in an instant when you catch sight of Tooru's face; your foe's eyes might still be weighing on him, but they're white noise compared to the half-second action it takes for Tooru to turn away from Ushijima. The smirk falls off so easy, crumples at his feat; tears already sticky in his lashes. He's always been an easy crier. 

It's not much of a conscious decision and more of an immediate response, ingrained so deep into your bones, you don't think it would disappear even if they were to cremate your body one day. Worms and maggots and everything in-between this realm and the next, they will feast on your devotion. 

Fingers wrapped around a wrist, one-step, two-step, bathroom's just another word for sanctuary; a quick look around, good, no one present to witness what they have no right to see.

His face has always fit so well into your hands, cheeks carefully cupped by palms used to playing rough, yet always achingly tender when it comes to him. 

Thumbs placed under his eyes, the nails already glistening shiny-wet, and one might imagine Tooru as a loud crier, ugly sobs that wreck his whole body, a bubbling mess of unfinished thoughts escaping his pretty mouth. A heart-wrenching sight if ever there was one. 

He's not.

Instead the tears fall silently, aided by rapid-second blinks. He inhales shakily, the motion causing warm air to caress the balls of your thumbs. 

You try to wipe them off, to no avail. Redundant, merely causes wetness to slide down your thumbs to your wrists, just above the pulse points.

(Quietly, a monster lying in wait, having made its bed in the darkest corners of your mind the day Tooru first babbled an alteration of your name, you wonder what taste it would evoke on your tongue. Lap it up greedily, judge like a connoisseur and not like you're a man starved to the bone.

In the darkest corners of your mind you wonder, and you _hunger_.) 

You lean forward, capture his mouth, lips wet and quivering under yours, his breath unsteady and uncertain around your teeth. 

Salty and sweet, desperation in its rawest form. 

Tooru and his many heartstrings made of glass. All you can do is kiss at the fissures and hope it's enough to mend them. 

* * *

You remember this:

You're six and he's five, watching Disney movies all day long because there's a storm raging outside and not even you in all your neverending wanderlust dare attempt challenge mother nature.

Blanket like a cape around his form, fluffy and dark blue, adorned by silver stars you know glow in the dark (no match for his eyes), pressed into your side, his feet and toes warm where they dig into your legs. He points at the TV where CinderellaSnowWhiteSleepingBeauty is twirling around, pretty bluewhitepink ball gown falling around her perfect feet. _I want that,_ he shares, like it's supposed to be a secret, and you laugh because it's not as surprising as he makes it out to be.

 _Of course you would, you're just like a princess,_ you tease, want to make him think of his aversion of dirt and his fear of bugs, hope he doesn't realize you think he's beautiful and priceless and you want to give him the world.

He pulls on your t-shirt, indignant, pouting, barely a meter tall and already knows how to make your heart tremble. _No,_ he denies, bottom lip resolutely stuck out. _I want **that**._ Points at the prince, the lovestruck fool, gaze forever glued to his beloved's face.

_I want my Prince Charming to search just for me. Spend so much time just thinking about me, only wanting me. He doesn't just randomly find and stay with me; it's me he's looking for in the first place._

You're six and he's five and he's always been the smarter of you two, the one who tells you the word of the day and draws complicated kanji into the dirt with a stick, eagerly awaiting your praise. You have no idea what he's talking about.

But looking back at the prince, hands clasped with his princess, you fear it's a reflection of your own enamored soul.

You remember this:

He's twelve and you're thirteen and there are numbers in his eyes. He tugs on the back of your gym shirt (no jersey yet, _you first years have to work for that_ ), finger pointing forward. _I want that,_ he says, and your gaze wanders and wanders until it reaches cobalt blue. Bold on white, a single declaration; one—the one who will lead them to victory.

You scoff and want to laugh because he says it like it's not an inevitability, like the stars haven't favored blindingly shining Tooru since the day he was born (like you wouldn't do everything in your power to make his every wish come true).

He tugs on your shirt again, more insistent this time, lines on his face like he knows your thoughts by heart and doesn't approve of a single one. Catches your eye, won't let go, won't let you misunderstand. _I want that,_ he repeats as his will leads you to four, four, four.

You think you might understand a little better, now.

You remember this:

You're both fourteen, and he's finally taller than you, dips his head and kisses you without preamble. Finger poking your chest, almost-painful, skin and bone and muscle and flesh like a cage keeping your heart from his seeking grasp. _I want this,_ he exhales into your mouth, lips sticky with cororo gummies and confessions.

 _I understand,_ you think, know you'll never be able to make him understand everything he ever wanted has always been his for the taking. (Won't ever stop trying to show him, though—wouldn't dare.)

* * *

Senpai, Oikawa-san, _Tooru_.

Like they have any _right_.

Some lines shouldn't be crossed, ignorance no excuse to tread onto private property. But wispy girl-giggles and lip gloss-shine dont much care for rules, _sorry, my bad, I didn't see, I didn't know,_ so quick to upset the natural order of things. 

_The sky is green,_ their pink letters sing, _Can I have your heart, just for a second?_ their fingers on his elbow sigh, like that's even an option. 

"Oi, what are you doing, idiot? We're gonna be late for practice."

Ephemeral, there in a moment and gone in the next—girl-next-door-presents and school-girl-crushes easily trampled by shiny new sneakers while he chants, _Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,_ his personal prayer, your life-long lullaby. Glows like the brightest star and has the audacity to act like he's not aware of all the eyes addicted to the shadows dutifully trailing him. 

You can't resist, you're only human; twist your head backwards and chance a quick glance. Teary eyes and trembling lips. Think they're so cute, think if they pout hard enough he might notice their despair by sheer willpower alone, come flouncing back like he's some knight in shining fucking armor and not your personal mess. 

No shame as a smirk dripping derision claws your face open, ugly and wide, and you mouth at them, _mine,_ tighten your hold around the fingers gripping your own, Tooru having immediately grabbed your hand as soon as he was by your side. Instinctive habit, engraved in the mind. A life-long habit of just him and you, you and him; two-in-one, the eternal package deal.

One of them might have gasped, another might have started wailing pitifully.

You wouldn't know—your eyes are already back to watching what's important, starbright lashes fluttering and a pink mouth full of larger-than-life dreams. 

* * *

_I do adore,_ your heart-fibers whisper, lips on your flesh sinking warmth into the bones underneath, his hair soft against your throat and you can't help but touch, fills the empty space between your fingers like it's meant to be; feel his smile against your skin and you don't think you can bear this. 

His love, all-encompassing, devours you in its entirety. 

But maybe being eaten alive isn't as fatal as they claim when the behemoth responsible is staring at you like this, like you're the only thing in this world worth looking at, the only sun left alive in a universe of dying stars, pupils swimmimg in russet and lips wrapped aound your name, praying, _please, pretty please, Hajime, pretty pretty please._

Like you'd ever refuse an opportunity to completely coalesce; already lost sight of where you begin and he ends, a trivial matter not meant to occupy your mind.

A kiss in stead of affirmation, your own language of love. 

He might have left his heart in your care, but yours has been his before he ever came begging for it.

* * *

You inside him, him inside you—it's all the same, his chest wide open and ribcage easily parted. You grip his heart and don't let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> no plot just Iwa-chan being soso in love


End file.
